


Reckless Abandon

by amyfortuna (elwinfortuna)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: ...and hints of OT9, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Burns, Established Relationship, Eye Trauma, Father/Son Incest, Feanorian OT8, Graphic Violence, M/M, Magical Violence, Masturbation, Multi, Ost-in-Edhil, Polyamory, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sauron suffers a lot, Second Age, Sibling Incest, Sloppy Seconds, Songs of Power, Spanking, Twincest, Unauthorised Use of Silmarilli, Unauthorised Use of the One Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-11-02 00:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20562845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwinfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: Celebrimbor and Sauron's confrontation in Ost-in-Edhil takes a different turn, with Maglor's assistance.





	Reckless Abandon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babyRage_lyla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyRage_lyla/gifts).

Sauron’s face was full of hate, his carefully-crafted, beautiful features cracking like a mask under pressure, only to reveal the horrid thing inside. He was bound with cords of mithril and hithlain by his hands and feet, and the cords then looped through iron bars, holding him secure in the underground cells of the city of Ost-in-Edhil. 

Maglor, continuing to play the harp, gave him a mocking smile. It was the Song that held him there, just as much as the cords or the iron bars, and they both knew it. 

Celebrimbor held the captured One Ring in his hand, turning it this way and that, inspecting the craftsmanship. “Oh,” he said after a moment. “I see what it does. It focuses and strengthens power. But it is a thing altogether corrupt, made for the purpose of bending the user to its will. Even now it speaks to me, telling me that I might do good with it, that with the Ring of Air and the Ring of Fire I might make an ever-preserved kingdom of Elvendom like unto Valinor itself.”

Maglor’s hands on the harp suddenly sped up, as though he were speaking through the music to Celebrimbor. 

“I know,” Celebrimbor answered after a moment. “I know his lies of old, and once deceived is more than enough.”

“Shall we make an end of it?” Maglor spoke softly, one hand going to a pouch fastened to his waist. 

“Yes,” Celebrimbor said. “Uncle, I will do it. Keep playing, just as you have been.” He slipped his free hand into the pouch and drew forth a blinding light, one that seared Sauron’s face as it emerged. The Silmaril shone like a star, with a light he had never seen save in a Song-vision at the dawn of time, and it burned as he beheld it, wincing, blinking, but unable to turn away. 

Celebrimbor’s voice rose in a chant that harmonised with the music Maglor played. “And so the betrayer shall be betrayed, and by the work of evil’s hand shall evil be undone.” The Silmaril in his left hand, the One Ring resting upon the palm of his right, he bent the light against and through the Ring. His voice rose in Song, in a language that Sauron knew, for it was Valarin. 

Power lanced from the Silmaril, arcing and increasing by means of the Ring, and sped as fire towards Sauron. He fought to free himself, to defend himself, to change shape, to flee, but was held, and held by more than chains. The fire struck him like a whip, opening up bleeding cuts across his torso, arms, legs, and face. His mouth opened in a soundless scream, his voice stolen from him by the Song that Maglor played and Celebrimbor sang. 

Pain was not the word for it. Even torment did not come close. What Sauron felt was agony, endless, timeless. Every cut burned as it bled, and his blood boiled, bubbling against unbroken skin until it blackened and cracked. For the first time, he regretted the strength lost in the making of the Ring, strength now being used against him, and wondered how long the pain would last, until they made an end. 

Was his vision amiss, or had the two doubled themselves? Sauron blinked, trying to focus his eyes, and heard laughter as the new pair looked at him, and then he recognised them. Surely that was Fëanor, and that was Curufin, the one who smiled at him with vicious mockery, both of them clothed in grey garments. They stood behind Maglor, and joined their voices to the Song that Celebrimbor sang, and the agony increased. 

Sauron’s vision blurred again, and two more Fëanorians appeared, dressed in similar clothes, these two so like each other it could be no other than the twins. No smiles from them, only an angry, focused glare on both faces, as they took their places one on each side of Fëanor, and the Song increased, and the agony increased. 

His fair hair was gone, his scalp burnt, his fingers, toes, and other appendages sliced to the bone, dangling by threads. His eyes could hardly focus, all but boiling in their sockets, and still the Song held him there, still the Silmaril channeled flame through the Ring, which shone white-hot on Celebrimbor’s palm. 

Three more, the final three, appeared, one crowned with hair like flame himself, with eyes that burned, a face that promised just revenge, and a Silmaril in his hand. Maedhros Sang, and Sauron saw no more, his eyes popping from their sockets to splatter on the floor. But still he felt, and still he heard, as Celegorm injected a note of wildfire into the Song, and Caranthir hummed low a frequency that rattled his very bones. 

The One Ring, at the sound of the low hum, rose from Celebrimbor’s palm into the air, the letters of the spell that bound it beginning to melt together. The spell was unworking itself, and all that was done by its power swayed and shivered. The Orcs in their camps not far away, waiting for a battle that would never come, wavered, cringed, and some began to sneak away into the night, making for the mountains where they could hide. Far away in Mordor the tower of Barad-dûr shook, its foundations cracking. 

The Song rose and rose until it seemed that all the air was full of harmony. Power crackled around the Ring, until with one mighty note the spell broke and the Ring exploded, sending shards of hot metal into Sauron’s face, the final blow, the finishing stroke. With a wordless shriek he imploded into ash and dust, nothing more than smoke upon the wind. All his works fell with him: Orcs ran shrieking into the night, and the Great Tower crashed in ruinous devastation. 

Celebrimbor, breathless and swaying, turned to Fëanor at the very instant the Song was done, and dropped to his knees, the Silmaril in his uplifted hands. Tears of joy fell from his eyes. “It gives me joy beyond measure to see you again, grandfather,” he said, as Fëanor gently took the Silmaril from his hands, and then kissed those hands, drawing Celebrimbor to his feet again. 

“Beloved one,” Fëanor murmured, pulling Celebrimbor into his arms and pouring strength into him. He looked around at his gathered sons, who pressed close about them both. “All my beloved ones, my faithful sons.” He kissed Celebrimbor fervently upon the mouth, and Celebrimbor laughed, renewed, rejoicing. 

“We should leave this place,” he said. “Come with me. The city is empty; I sent everyone away when the army approached.” With Fëanor’s hand in his, he began walking from the lower dungeons, a place that so nearly saw his own torture, but thanks to Maglor, turned into triumph. 

They emerged into the night. The army that had been encamped about the gates of Ost-in-Edhil was gone, as if it had never been. Celebrimbor laughed aloud to see the fallen banners of Sauron, abandoned where the Orcish standard bearers had dropped them in their haste to depart. 

“We will go to my own rooms,” he said. “I am still very weary.” 

Fëanor smiled at him. “Our strength is yours.”

* * *

“Let me look at you all,” Fëanor said, sitting down on the low sofa in Celebrimbor’s bedroom. “Nelyo, you first.” 

Maedhros knelt down before his father, offering up the Silmaril he carried. Fëanor took it from him, frowning over the scars on his face and brushing gently over his right arm with its missing hand. “My beloved one, you endured so much.” He bent forward and kissed Maedhros, who responded with a noise that was half-sob, half-laugh, wrapping his arms around his father and kissing him back passionately. 

Fëanor patted the sofa beside himself. “Come and sit next to me,” he said, and Maedhros obeyed. He could not seem to keep from touching his father, laying his hand upon his thigh even as Fëanor spoke again. “Now my Káno.” 

Maglor approached, taking his harp and playing a ripple of music that seemed to laugh for very joy. Setting it aside, he threw himself into Fëanor’s arms, holding him close, laying quick kisses over his face. Fëanor laughed softly. “It’s good to see you again too, my love.” 

“It was such a long time without you,” Maglor said. 

“I know.” Fëanor placed his hand on Maglor’s head. “It’s because of you and Tyelpë that we are here now. Rest, be at peace.” 

Maglor stood up, catching Fëanor’s hand and kissing it. Then he took up his harp again, and settled down in a nearby chair, beginning to play a melody that spoke of joy and reunion. 

“My Turco,” Fëanor said, and Celegorm turned from where he had been examining the furs on Celebrimbor’s bed and exchanging whispered words with Curufin. A wild grin crossed his face as he ran toward Fëanor. 

“New lands!” he exclaimed joyfully. “And a new life, with you, Father!” He knelt down, wrapping his arms around Fëanor’s waist. Fëanor bent and kissed his forehead, brushing the wild silver locks out of his face with a tender look. 

“We shall explore them all together,” he said, bending down further to kiss Celegorm’s lips. Celegorm slowly released his hold on Fëanor but did not move away, sliding down to sit near Fëanor’s feet. 

Caranthir approached even before Fëanor could call him. His eyes were filled with apprehension. “I did my best, Father,” he said, kneeling down just out of reach. 

A troubled look crossed Fëanor’s face. “Of course you did, beloved,” he said softly. “Come here. Now is not the time for recriminations, but for reunion. You have no need to be ashamed.” He put out a hand, and Caranthir placed his own into it, moving a little closer. 

“I love you, Father,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the hand he held. 

“And I love you, Moryo,” he answered. “Stay here by my side.” Caranthir smiled and sat down beside Celegorm, cross-legged on the floor, beside the sofa. 

“My little Curvo,” Fëanor said, but Curufin was already throwing himself toward his father, arms wide. 

“Father,” he cried. “I missed you so.” 

Fëanor kissed him, pulling him into his lap. For a few minutes they nuzzled each other and spoke to each other in whispers so soft no one else could hear them. Finally Curufin stood, and gave a final bow to Fëanor, before turning to Celebrimbor. “My Tyelpë,” he said. “Come with me, if you will, for we must speak.” 

Celebrimbor nodded, and they left the room together, even as Amrod and Amras knelt at their father’s feet, gazing up worshipfully, and he laid a tender hand on each of their heads. 

Leading his father out the wide doors to the stone balcony that overlooked the city of Ost-in-Edhil, Celebrimbor turned to Curufin with a rueful smile. “I think I have an apology to make,” he said. “Our parting at Nargothrond was not all that I would have wished, but it most certainly was not what rumour made it in later years. I never disowned you, but there were times I may have stood by while others cursed your name.” He held out a hand toward his father, and then gestured at the view. “I have written my remorse in stone, all across this city. Can you see it?” 

Curufin looked out across the rooftops to the city walls and beyond. At first nothing seemed to leap out at him, but now and again familiar notes could be seen: the curve of an arch, a vine carved at a gate, the way the streets wound back and forth down toward the city gates, the way the city rose up to meet the mountains behind in a pattern that matched them. “You designed it with the fortress at the pass of Aglon in mind,” he said at last, his breath catching. “It is a homage to my work.” 

“Yes!” Celebrimbor said, and flung himself forward, pulling Curufin into his arms. “I thought of you as I designed this city, and my memory of your love is written into every carving. I have not forgotten nor have I abandoned you, not for a single moment.” 

“You have no apology to make, Tyelpë, and never have,” Curufin said softly, smoothing his son’s hair. “You led our followers well, and kept yourself safe. I could ask no more.” 

Celebrimbor, over Curufin’s shoulder, glimpsed Celegorm standing up, beginning to remove his clothing. “You should go back inside, Father,” he said. “It seems your reunion has only just begun.” 

Curufin turned to look too, with a smile. “May we use your bed?” he asked. 

Celebrimbor released him with a soft laugh. “All of my surfaces are yours.” He began to turn away, but Curufin caught his arm. 

“You could come in with me, you know,” he murmured. “You are welcome among us.” 

Celebrimbor looked thoughtful. “Not just now,” he said. “I will remain here. Have fun.” He took a seat on the low, wide, cushioned bench that looked out to the mountains above the city. Curufin laid a hand on his shoulder, letting it linger for a moment, then moved away, back into the room. 

Inside, he joined Celegorm in stripping off his clothing. Amras and Amrod were already curled up in a corner of the sofa, kissing fiercely. Maglor laid his harp aside in favour of taking Caranthir into his lap, and they whispered to each other, Maglor’s hand brushing over Caranthir’s clothed crotch. 

Maedhros and Fëanor were sitting together on the other end of the sofa, watching the strip-show Celegorm and Curufin were inadvertently putting on with interest. Once Curufin was naked, Maedhros beckoned to him. 

He made to move toward them, but Celegorm caught his hand, pressing something into it, then drawing him close and kissing him hard. “Soon, little one,” he said, then turned Curufin around, giving him a smack on the arse that propelled him toward Maedhros and Fëanor. 

Curufin opened his hand to see a vial of oil there, just before Fëanor caught him and kissed him, taking the vial from him and pulling him down across his own lap and Maedhros’. He gave Curufin a few sharp smacks on the hip and buttocks, just enough to sensitise him, and Curufin gasped and shivered, leaning forward to catch Maedhros’ lips with his own. 

Maedhros and Fëanor were both still dressed, Fëanor fully so, Maedhros with his trousers down around his hips, just enough to expose his cock. As Fëanor went to work opening Curufin up, Curufin bent down, taking Maedhros’ cock into his mouth, enjoying the sensation of Maedhros pushing his hand into his hair and tugging at the dark strands, controlling the way he moved his mouth on his cock. 

Maedhros was well-endowed, and Curufin the smallest of his brothers, though stocky and well-built like his father, and Míriel before him. Celebrimbor had inherited his stockiness, but was taller, looking more like a dark-haired Celegorm. 

Curufin, though small, was agile and lithe, able to do things with his tongue and fingers that quickly had Maedhros moaning hungrily and thrusting up into his mouth. All the while Fëanor fingered him, pressing one slick finger inside him, then another, and thrusting them in and out. Celegorm wandered over, and amused himself by tugging down Fëanor’s trousers and taking his cock into his mouth, beginning the very gentlest of teasing licks and delicate touches, but mostly just holding himself close to his father. 

“You’re ready,” Fëanor said, giving Curufin a final smack on the buttocks. Maedhros tugged at Curufin’s hair, and Curufin rose, lips swollen and hair askew. 

“We should move over to the bed.” He hopped off Fëanor’s lap and took Maedhros by the hand. “You first, then Father, then you, Turco. I want as much as I can get of you.” 

Maedhros gave him a grin, as wild and cheerful as it had been in the Long Peace of Beleriand, and tugged him across to the bed. “I want to feel every bit of you,” he said, pushing Curufin down on his back in the bed and immediately pushing inside him, covering him with his body almost completely. 

Fëanor and Celegorm joined them on the bed as Maedhros made it rock with the force of his thrusts and Curufin arched up into him, making delighted noises. Across the room, Caranthir was fucking Maglor, slow and deep, drawing it out, making him moan sweetly for more. Over on the sofa, Amras and Amrod kissed in a tangle of limbs, stroking each other’s cocks. 

Outside on the balcony, Celebrimbor pulled the cord from his hair that had been holding it in a high tail, letting it loose to tumble about his shoulders. He sighed and lay down on the wide bench, giving in to his rising desire to listen to the sounds coming from within the room, sounds that most definitely included his own father. 

He was hard within his trousers, and no longer able to resist the need to touch himself. Aside from his father and his grandfather, he could also hear Maglor, who for years now had been his lover, and there was something within him that never could resist the sound of that low melodious voice raised in passion. He wanted to throw himself into the tangle of their bodies in reckless abandon, wanted to take them and be taken by them. 

Slowly but surely he was stroking himself, stoking the flame within him that rose and rose and would not be quelled. He pushed his trousers down, taking his cock out, staring up at the deep blue of the cloudless night and the white flame of the stars above. Inside the room, someone howled their release, and he was almost sure it was his father, but shamelessly could not bear to feel any guilt over letting that, too, stoke his desires. 

Lost in the need to come, he failed to notice quiet footsteps making their way over to him, and opened his eyes to find Maglor smiling down at him. “Want some help with that?” Maglor said, gesturing to Celebrimbor’s cock. 

Celebrimbor wanted to blush but instead found himself grinning. “Yes,” he said, and Maglor climbed atop him, lowering himself down slowly, teasing Celebrimbor with a tweak of his nipples before sinking onto him fully. He was hot and wet inside, more than fully prepared, indeed, Celebrimbor gasped to feel what could be nothing else than someone else’s seed inside him, leaking out around the rim in white droplets. 

His unspoken question made Maglor laugh. He did not answer it, choosing instead to lean down and kiss Celebrimbor thoroughly, in a way that was calculated to make him forget all questions and thrust up into Maglor with fervour.

Inside, Maedhros lay back against the pillows on the bed, holding Curufin in his arms while Fëanor pressed inside him. Celegorm sat next to them on the bed, and Caranthir joined him, wrapping an arm about his shoulders and laying lazy kisses on his face and throat from time to time. 

Amras and Amrod were still on the sofa, curled up next to each other, speaking softly and watching Maglor and Celebrimbor through the window. 

Curufin had already come once, but that was no hinderance to his enjoyment of his father taking him once again after a time too long to count. He was blissfully happy: his son was safe, his family was with him, his father was inside him.


End file.
